Avengers West Coast # 13

"Thermodynamic"
Part One

Written by Chris Munn
Plot by Chris Munn and Russ Anderson

San Francisco , California
Present Day

The city was gorgeous. Sitting at the street-side café, enjoying possibly the finest cup of tea she'd ever tasted, Janet Van Dyne could only smile at the beautiful California day. Granted, it was much the same as every other California day, but it seemed as if this was the first time she'd actually taken a moment to appreciate the area. Despite her brief stay in Los Angeles during her tenure with the West Coast branch of the Avengers, she always considered herself more of a New York kinda gal. Taking another sip of her tea, she realized that perhaps she'd have to change perspectives a bit.

“This seat taken?” a familiar voice asked from behind her, causing her to smile widely. Turning around in her seat, an old friend gave her a wink of his eye.

“Clint Barton, you are absolutely no good at sneaking up on people,” she replied as her former teammate bent down to give her a hug, “glad you could make it down.” As Clint took a seat beside her, Janet noticed the two other people making their way to the table. While Carol Danvers carried almost a permanent frown on her face (not to mention the numerous bruises that accompanied said frown on her features), Hank McCoy was all smiles and waves, his normal bestial appearance concealed by a holographic image inducer.

“My dear Ms. Van Dyne,” McCoy addressed as he took her hand in his, kissing it like the gentleman he liked to pretend to be, “it's been way too long since this bashful blue-hued Beast has had an excuse to be gallant.”

“Not counting the three sorority girls he chatted up on the trolley earlier,” Clint remarked with a smirk. “It seems our buddy's still got a little bit of the ol' Avenger charm kickin' in.”

“Actually, were you privy to the goings-on of the not-so-merry mutants over the past year or so,” Hank stated, a slight tinge of sorrow in his normally jubilant demeanor, “you'd understand why being back with the Avengers is reawakening the little bit of goofball that this old throw-rug has left.”

“The Avengers will always be your home, Hank,” Jan chimed in, offering seats to him and Carol, “just like it'll always be ours.”

“Don't mind Carol,” Clint said to Jan, flicking a lemon from his complimentary water glass at the brooding Ms. Danvers, “she's still peeved at me for putting her on probation after she did something stupid.”

“It's because I don't like having a chaperone when I go out,” she answered, batting away the lemon with ease. “Just because my powers may be in flux somewhat doesn't mean the walking hairball has to follow me around everywhere I go. No offense, Jan, but I wouldn't have came today if Clint hadn't made me as part of my probation . And remember, Clint, what's stupid to you was completely rational to me .”

“Worry not, my slightly moody sparrow of Kree aggression,” the Beast stated, hoping to turn her attention back to him, “I'm not here to make sure you don't smoke or miss your curfew. Hawkeye asked me to stay along until we can determine just what's making you go all wiggy…literally, not emotionally. So, until I do, consider me the very large monkey on your back.”

“Why didn't Tony come?” Jan asked, removing her sunglasses as she spoke.

“He said he had something else he had to check up on,” Hawkeye replied, “but for us to give you his best regards.”

“The old guard seems to be growing apart lately,” Jan commented, “I had a very brief chat with Thor a few weeks back, and he was strangely distant, almost cold .”

“Yeah, well, that's nothing compared to the new reality show that's hit the airwaves,” Clint added. “Have you seen Champions yet?”

“Please, guys,” Henry said, holding his hands into the air as a show of peace, “ ixnay on the Ampionschay . I invited somebody else to our impromptu luncheon, and we are all still friends, despite our current career choices.”

“You know, when I was starting out as an actor,” a voice said from the sidewalk next to their café table, “they always told me that timing was everything.” The four Avengers all looked over, feet firmly planted in mouths, at the slightly perturbed Simon Williams.

“No flying cameras following you around today, Simon?” Clint asked, a hint of irritation in his voice. “Didn't know your brother gave you guys time off.”

“Clint!” Jan chided, shooting him a wicked furrowing of her eyebrows before turning back toward Wonder Man. “Simon, please, take a seat and join us. It's great to see you again!”

“I told Erik that if I saw a camera following me today,” Simon explained as he took the final seat around the circular table, “I'd break his fingers. So don't worry, the world won't get to see that World's Most Amazing Archer spin-off any time soon.”

“Focus, people,” Carol interrupted, halting any reply Hawkeye may have had for the current Champion member, “Jan asked us here for a reason. Maybe we ought to get right to business…”

The Wasp sighed heavily before speaking, stirring her tea with the swizzle-stick as she gathered her thoughts. “It's about Hank – Pym, not McCoy – and the way he's been acting lately. Clint, Simon, you were there with me when the Vision…” She paused. “…when Hank did what he had to do. That one act nearly crippled him emotionally, and I don't know if he's getting any better.”

“What are you saying, Jan?” Simon asked, leaning back in his chair with arms crossed against his chest. “Are we looking at a return of the old Yellowjacket or something?”

“He's not having another breakdown, if that's what you mean,” Jan answered, rubbing her eyes between moments of speaking, “but he's intensely focused. He doesn't want to be a superhero anymore, or have anything to do with them…and I'm starting to think that includes me as well.”

Rick Jones…the man that created the Avengers.

Iron Man had to stifle a small laugh as the thought ran through his mind. Soaring over the greater Los Angeles area, he found Rick to be a constant memory…whether it be as the deciding factor in the war between the Kree and Skrull races, as Captain America's former partner, or as the man responsible for the creation of the incredible Hulk, Rick Jones was as much a part of the superhero community as Stark himself. And he's only half my age , Tony thought to himself, sighing softly inside his helmet.

His bootjets flared as he changed direction, moving downward from his high point in the sky. The grass of the lawn scorched slightly as he touched down on the suburban lawn, his arrival drawing stares and gasps from the neighbors of the woman he was coming to visit. Normally, he hated giving any kind of connection between himself and civilians, but Rick's association with superheroes was public knowledge. Hell, he'd even written a best-selling book about it.

Striding confidently to the front door of the home, Iron Man hesitated slightly before knocking. He knew he needed to find out what the woman knew, but he still felt a twinge of guilt…would he be reopening wounds of which he wasn't even aware? Quickly coming to a decision, he rapped his steel knuckles lightly against the wooden door and waited.

“Can I help…” the words died in the young woman's throat as she threw open the door, expecting anybody but the imposing figure that stood in her doorway. Stark looked her over, his helmet covering up any expression on his face. The red-haired female was every bit as beautiful as he remembered, despite a few years passing since he'd last seen her.

“Marlo Jones?” he asked rhetorically. The still-stunned woman nodded slowly, as if it took her a moment to realize he was addressing her. Iron Man scowled. “I'm here to talk to you about Rick.”

Henry Pym found it difficult to relax. Even sitting on the deck of the ocean-side home that he and Janet had bought after moving from New York , the sun baking his shirtless chest as he lay stretched out on a lawn chair, he found his mind wandering back to his work. With all the tests he still needed to make on the refinement of his Pym Particles, relaxing made him feel guilty…and Hank already felt guilty enough as it was.

His eyes squinted as he lowered his gaze along the horizon line, noticing a breaking of the waves. Finding his sunglasses to be little help in blocking the sun's reflection off the water from his eyes, he could actually see very little. Only when a large figure broke through the ocean's watery surface did he finally realize what he was looking at. Silhouetted by the sun behind him, the man's expansive wings stretched out into the sky, running the full length of his body and further. Gliding through the air, the winged man made his way to the wooden deck upon which Pym sat, and with a wet thud landed beside him.

“Hello, Walter,” Hank greeted as he pushed his sunglass away from his eyes, positioning them atop his head. Walter Newell, also known as the undersea adventurer Stingray, nodded as his large glider wings fell limply to his arms, the wooden floor beneath him now soaked wet with the water that dripped off his suit.

“Was in the neighborhood, Hank,” Stingray said as he removed the full-face cowl from his head, letting it drape down his back, “so I thought I'd stop in and say hello.”

“This in a science capacity,” Hank said with a slight frown as he stood from the chair, taking Newell's hand in a firm grip, “or an Avengers one?”

“I was an Avenger for all of about 5 minutes, Hank,” Walter answered with a slight laugh, “and I've been an oceanographer for quite a bit longer than that. I'm actually curious about the new Pym Particle applications I hear you're working on.”

Sliding open the glass door to his home, Pym motioned for Walter to follow. “Things are going slow right now, I have to admit. I've been trying to apply the Particles to mass reproduction efforts instead of just size changing. Imagine taking a glass of water and enlarging it to the point where it can irrigate an entire desert, or increasing the amounts of oil and coal that are slowly being depleted every day.”

“Quite the lofty goal there,” Stingray admitted as he stepped lightly across the carpet, trying not to leave soaking wet footprints as he followed Pym to the basement door. Henry said nothing in reply as the two descended down the staircase, entering a large underground lab below the house.

“Look, Hank,” Newell began hesitantly, stopping his friend with a soft hand on the shoulder, “I heard about what happened with the Vision. Everybody's worried about you, and I know what it's like to drown yourself in your work – literally, in my case.”

Pym sighed as he turned to face Stingray. Upon seeing the concern on the man's face, however, Henry forced a smile to form on his lips. “I appreciate the concern, Walter, really. I'm not breaking down again, no matter how many people think I'm going to.”

“Hank, that's not…”

“No, it's okay,” Pym interjected, raising a hand to cut off his friend's statement, “people are doomed to expect the worst, and I understand why. I've got Jan here with me, I've got my work, and I'm out of the superhero business…and that's everything I've ever wanted.”

Before Stingray could offer any words of support, a large computer screen on the far end of the room suddenly came to life, attracting both men's attention. The face of a beautiful woman appeared on the screen, her natural beauty marred only by the blank expression on her face. “I apologize for interrupting Dr. Pym,” the woman said, her voice echoing through the lab by way of a speaker system, “but you have a visitor at the front of the house.”

“Thanks, Jocasta,” Henry answered as he and Walter walked closer to the screen, “put whoever it is up on the monitor.”

At Pym's command, the woman's face disappeared from the monitor, replaced by a camera view of the home's front porch. “Jocasta,” Stingray commented, “why does that sound familiar?”

“Just a name I gave to the low grade A.I. that runs the house,” Pym answered as he ran his hand over a mouse, moving the angle of the security camera, “a program with the personality of a block of wood. Sentient machines are something I've had my fill of, believe me.”

“Now who,” Pym muttered as a large black man came into view on the screen, a young girl cradled in his arms, “is that ?”

“Open the door, Pym!” His daughter held in his arms, Terrence Sorensen paced back and forth frantically on the front lawn. He'd made the trip cross country, from New York to California , by way of a string of stolen cars. He could feel Janet's shallow breathing against his own chest, and he knew that she didn't have much time left. The man he'd come to see was a genius, however, and if anybody could save her it was him.

A man he had nearly killed years before.

“Identify yourself,” a female voice said from a speaker above the front door, “and state your business with Dr. Pym.”

“My daughter,” he yelled, speaking to the speaker for lack of a better target, “she's deathly ill, and she needs his help!”

The woman's voice took longer to reply, but a reply indeed came. “I'm sorry,” the dull, seemingly lifeless tone making the words impossibly hurt even more, “but Dr. Pym is not a medical doctor. His areas of specialty are biogenetics and cybernetics. I will happily call an ambulance to this address if you need…”

“No, no hospitals!” Sorensen yelled, setting his daughter on the grass while fighting back tears. “We'll just do this the hard way then, you cold hearted witch.”

Walking to the front door, the black man's hands began to pulse with an unexpected glow of energy. While his right hand burst into a ball of flame, his left hand grew white with a coating of solid ice. Placing his frozen hand against the door, a blast of ice flash froze the wood. A kick from his leg shattered the brittle ice, causing the door to fall from its place in broken chunks.

“Warning!” the woman's voice said from the speaker box. “You are violating the privacy of Dr. Pym. Security measures are enab- awwrkk !”

Returning to the lawn, Sorensen picked up his daughter with his now normal hands, the speaker through which Jocasta had spoken now nothing but a melted slag of wires and metal. Turning back toward the open door, Terry narrowed his eyes at the two men that now stood in the house's foyer. He recognized Henry Pym immediately, but the man in the red and white winged costume was a mystery.

“Can I help you?” Pym asked, not pleased with the damage to his home.

“Pym, my daughter,” Sorensen said forcefully, “she's going to die if you don't help her. Please, man, I'm sorry about what I did to you years ago, just…just help her!”

“Hank,” Walter whispered from beneath the Stingray mask, “you know this guy?”

“Walter,” Pym answered with a confused look on his face as he glanced over the desperate older man and his daughter, “I haven't the slightest clue who he is…”

Pietro Maximoff grunted in frustration. It had taken him 13.2 seconds to pack and load his few belongings into the Quinjet that rested in the hanger below Avengers Compound. Inactivity had slowed him down.

“Are you sure you have to leave so soon, Quicksilver?” Vagabond asked as the silver-haired mutant's hands became a blur, his destination programmed into the Quinjet's computer navigation system in a matter of seconds.

“My daughter is in New York ,” he answered, not even bothering to glance at the young woman standing behind him, “and it has been too long since I have held her in my arms. I will bear even a reunion with my estranged wife for only a moment with little Luna. If you had children, Ms. Barnes, I'm sure you would understand.”

Priscilla furrowed her brow as Pietro zoomed past her and down the jet's ramp, heading back into the compound for some forgotten item. He'd been at the Compound for only a few days, but anyone could tell how restless he was. His sister and daughter were on the other side of the country, and the woman he'd loved had left him. She understood his frustration, but still…he didn't have to be such an ass about it.

“Hey, Matt,” she said as she slowly disembarked from the Quinjet, immediately spotting the Two-Gun Kid at the hanger door. “You here to see Quicksilver off?”

“I suppose so, darlin',” Matt answered, pushing his hat up farther on his head, exposing his eyes, “but it don't seem right, us being the only ones here when he leaves. We barely know the guy…Hawk and the rest are his friends.”

“I intentionally planned my departure while Barton and Danvers were away,” Pietro himself answered, once again in the room, a small teddy bear – a gift for his daughter – gripped in his hand, “I begrudgingly accepted the offer to stay here, and it is best that I take my leave sooner rather than later.”

“You all set, then?” Priscilla asked, extending her hand to give Quicksilver a farewell handshake. Pietro merely turned his nose up at the two Avengers.

“Tell Iron Man that I will contact him after I arrive at Avengers Mansion ,” he said dismissively, “but that the situation yesterday between Danvers and Marie has brought shame to the proud name of the Avengers, as I'm sure he will understand.”

Walking toward the Quinjet, Quicksilver stopped and turned back toward the three heroes. “The life of an Avenger is a difficult – and often tragic – one,” he advised, “and I have seen great men crack under the pressure…myself included. Be well, Avengers.”

With a blink of an eye, the son of Magneto was gone from their sight. The engines of the Quinjet flared to life, rocketing the small plane out of the cliff side hangar exit. Vagabond and Two-Gun watched the plane sail into the sky, finally disappearing from view as it changed direction to head for New York .

Vagabond shrugged her shoulders, turning toward her teammate with a beaming smile. “So, who's on monitor duty?”

“Can I, um, offer you some coffee,” Marlo said hesitantly as she offered Iron Man a seat on her sofa, “or something?”

“No, thank you,” Stark answered. He also decided to stand instead of sit, as his armored body had broken more than a few sofas in its time. “Ms. Jones, when was the last time you saw Rick?”

“It's been a few months,” she admitted, deciding to take the spot on the couch that the Avenger had declined, “he disappeared out of bed one morning, as he did frequently whenever Genis wanted out to play. Usually, he was back in a few days…this time, though, he never came back.”

“I'm sure you've seen the news,” Iron Man continued, “that Captain Marvel has rejoined the Avengers here in Los Angeles .”

“I kept telling Rick that that spoiled alien kid was going to get him killed,” she stated sadly, “but he never listened.”

She paused.

“Rick's dead, isn't he?”

“That's what I'm trying to find out, Marlo,” Tony said, “but I hope that's not the case. Rick Jones is an Avenger…and we're going to do everything in our power to find out what's going on.”

From the vantage point of a distant cluster of trees, the watcher adjusted the focus on his binoculars. Henry Pym and Stingray he recognized immediately, the first from personal experience and the second from reputation. It was the black man carrying the teenage girl that held his interest, however. He'd followed Terrence Sorensen all the way from New York City , determined to hold him responsible for the destruction of a Brooklyn hospital weeks before. Positioning his long distance microphone at an appropriate angle, the hunter watched and listened.

“My name's Terry Sorensen,” the man said to the confused Hank Pym, “do you remember me?”

“The name sounds slightly familiar,” Pym admitted, “but whatever it is you think you did to me years ago obviously didn't leave a lasting impression.”

Sorensen sighed heavily. “Look, it doesn't matter anymore. All that matters is that Janet is dying, and you are her last hope. She's a mutant, and her power is killing her.”

“Set her down for a moment, so I can take a look at her,” Pym requested, to which Sorensen quickly complied. Turning back toward the still guarded Stingray, Henry motioned for him to return inside. “Walter, go call an ambulance, just in case. What's her mutation?”

“She spontaneously combusts,” Terry explained, watching intently as Pym did a very quick examination, “and she gets weaker with every burst of power. She's only a teenager, Pym…she can't control it.”

Feeling her pulse, Henry's words died in his throat. “Her heart's stopped beating,” he said as he placed his hands on the girl's chest, “you didn't notice, man?”

“I…no…” Terry stuttered out, unable to do anything but scramble around to his daughter's side, “it must've been when I set her down to open the door. Oh, god, Pym, don't you let her die!”

The former Avenger grimaced as he pumped her chest with his hands. “I'm trying my best…” he paused to breathe air into her lungs, “but I don't think…”

With the sound of an ambulance siren heard in the distance, Hank continued to try breathing life into the girl's still chest. Janet's father was frantic by this time, his eyes darting from her blank, expressionless face over to Pym's scowling visage and back again. Finally, as the ambulance finally arrived at the drive to the house, the scientist stopped his attempt at resuscitation and scooted back. The paramedics ran to the girl's side, with the attention of everyone present focused on her dead form.

“Get away from her!” Sorensen screamed as he pushed the paramedics away, scooping his now deceased daughter into his arms. “You're not taking her away from me! I told you no hospitals!”

Before Pym, the paramedics, or even the newly returned Stingray could offer a rebuttal to the man's ravings, Terence Sorensen broke into a run across the lawn, Janet's body clutched tightly to his chest. “I got him, Hank!” Stingray stated as he took to the air, his large wing foils propelling him into the air to take chase.

“ No !” Sorensen shouted with a voice harsh and choked with emotion. Still running, he allowed his hand to point behind him, and a stream of fire exploded from his palm. The dry California grass caught fire immediately, the flames rising just high enough to cut off Stingray's pursuit. By the time the ocean hero climbed higher into the air, he had lost sight of the grief-stricken father.

Having witnessed the entire scenario, the unknown hunter finally let the binoculars drop from his eyes. Any hopes he'd had of Sorensen turning himself in to the authorities were now dashed, and he realized that once again he would have to take the law into his own, vengeful hands.

“Nobody moves, nobody does anything stupid, and nobody gets hurt!”

The patrons and operators of the Bay Area Diamond Exchange all nodded in unison at the commands of the gaudily dressed man with the large tank strapped to his back. He was called the Trapster, and the solid block of adhesive glue that he had sprayed on the store's security guard had showed that his intentions were clear as glass.

“Remember, you call the cops after I'm gone,” the villain said as he backed out of the store, the bag of diamonds clutched in one hand while his other wrist was pointed at the collection of people, “and I'll come back and paste you guys into oblivion!”

Pushing open the door to the store with a shove of his shoulder, the Trapster smiled at his own brilliance. California was so much nicer a locale to apply his criminal tendencies…sure, there were heroes, but not one on every street corner like in New York . Just as the thought crossed his mind, however, he suddenly found himself jerked into the air by the paste tank on his back.

“Paste Pot Pete,” the Beast mocked from above, his feet gripping onto the tank while his mutant strength allowed him to easily lift the criminal into the air, “perchance people purposely purport your power to be…hmm, what's another P word?... poopy, perhaps?”

“Lemme go, monkey man!” the Trapster shouted in embarrassment as he attempted to aim his wrist shooters at the hero.

The X-Man turned Avenger stifled a chuckle as he swung his furry legs forward, releasing his feet's grasp on the villain's tank. “Your wish, my lavender amigo, is my command. Over to you, Simon m'boy!”

The Trapster flew through the air, propelled by the Beast's throw. Looking in front of him, he flinched as he approached the smiling form of Simon Williams, whose fist was pulled back in preparation. Wonder Man's punch collided with the Trapster's flailing body, knocking him back across the street once again like a human ping-pong ball. Colliding hard with a brick wall, the criminal was unconscious before he hit the sidewalk.

“I believe these are yours?” Beast offered as he tossed the bag of diamonds back into the eager hands of the Exchange's owner. A crowd had already formed around Wonder Man, the people of San Francisco immediately recognizing the celebrity, and Hank McCoy felt right at home as he joined in the audience's approval with his old friend. Still sitting at the café less than a block away, Hawkeye, Warbird, and Wasp could do nothing but watch and laugh.

“I'd almost forgotten how much those two love to ham it up,” Carol admitted, turning back toward Jan and Clint, “and it looks to me like they're all we need to make Avengers PR skyrocket.”

“I'm sorry I made you all come down here,” Janet said with a slight smile, “I guess paranoia just got the better of dingy little Janet Van Dyne.”

“Aw, don't start talkin' like that, Waspie,” Clint said, tossing a wink in her direction, “we'll all go pay Hank a visit with you. I wouldn't mind seeing ol' High Pockets myself.”

As if on cue, the cellular phone in Janet's purse began to ring, the vibrating feature causing the contents of her purse to shake slightly on the table. Digging through her bag until she found the phone, she hesitated to read the number on the caller I.D. Not recognizing the sequence of numbers, she pressed the “answer” button and placed the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Jan,” the person on the other end of the line greeted, his voice barely audible through a haze of cellular static, “it's Walter Newell. I had a visit with Hank today, and something kinda weird happened. Some strange guy brought his sick daughter to your house and begged Hank to save her life. She died on your lawn, and then the guy ran off with the body. Hank's kinda down about it, so…well, just thought I'd let you know.”

“I appreciate it, Walter,” Jan said, holding one finger in her open ear in hopes of hearing him better, “but where's all that static coming from? I can barely hear you.”

“Oh, it's probably because I'm under water,” he answered, “calling from my helmet's radio transmitter. But anyway, take care Jan, hope to see you soon.”

“You too,” she said before disconnecting the call, her attention turned back toward Clint and Carol. “You guys mind if we go see Hank right now? I think something bad might've happened…”

Wonder Man and the Beast, having approached with the unconscious Trapster slung over Simon's shoulder, shot concerned glances at Hawkeye and Warbird. “I've got to get back to Hawaii anyway,” Williams said, “but I'll drop Trapster off at the jail as I head off. You guys go check on Pym, and if you need me…”

He gave Janet an assuring smile.

“We'll be fine, Wondy,” Hawkeye said, “and so will Hank. The Avengers take care of our own.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Simon muttered as he turned back toward the side alley in which he'd parked his Champs-craft.

“So what's the good word, Mr. Powell?”

Chris Powell shrugged his shoulders in response to the girl's question. Lena Myers sat Indian-style on the bed, waiting for her newest friend to tell her what he'd learned about his condition. Chris couldn't believe how smitten he'd become for the short, pink-haired girl, especially considering how short a span of time had lapsed since the two had met. “Dr. Strange checked me out after all that stuff with Carol went down,” he began, bracing his backside against the dresser that ran across the bedroom wall of his bungalow, “and, well...”

“Pregnant pauses may make you seem dramatic to other ladies,” Lena said with a smile, “but with me, it's best if you just spit it out.”

“Well, it's like this,” he continued, rubbing his hand through his brown hair, “see, Dr. Strange is the authority when it comes to weird stuff. He knows everything there is to know about ghosts and monsters and other dimensions...”

Lena sighed, loudly and on purpose. “You're stalling,” she accused.

“Strange didn't have a freakin' clue what to do about that little Moomba totem that's floating around in Darkhawk's stomach,” Chris finally admitted, “and, to be honest, that doesn't really instill me with a lot of confidence.”

“Actually,” Powell continued, “it was Dr. McCoy that finally came up with a theory. Because the Darkhawk body is an alien cyborg clone – don't ask – he thinks the totem could very well have been dissolved in alien stomach acid by now.”

“Now that's a lovely image,” Lena teased with a slight giggle.

“So,” Chris said slowly, “I think I'm just gonna suck it up and trigger the transformation. If we get flooded by an army of Moombas, well, at least we know how to beat them again.”

Lena didn't say a word as Chris rubbed his fingers across the black diamond that hung around his neck. The boy closed his eyes, and was immediately engulfed in a surge of ebony energy...a moment later, the form of Darkhawk stood in his place. He looked surveyed the area, running to look out the window, and found no evidence of any unwanted consequences.

“I guess,” he said through his helmet's voice filter, “that everything's cool.”

“Is there really any way to know for sure?” Lena asked.

“I've never had to go to the bathroom while in this body,” Darkhawk answered, a reply that probably would have been accompanied by a blush had he still retained his normal body, “so I guess we just play it by ear.”

The sun had slowly begun its descent past the horizon, bathing the secluded park with an orange haze that filtered through the dense tree-line. Terry Sorenson, nestled beneath a large palm tree with his daughter's body cradled in his arms, tried his best to hold back the tears. Janet's mutant powers had finally burned her out, her biological systems unable to cope with the violent expulsion of fiery energy that flared uncontrollably from her over the past several years. His wife had long left the two of them to fend for themselves, and for a time Terry had blamed his daughter for bringing back a part of his life that he had hoped was over. He used to beat her, and the thought of that just made him cry even harder.

Control your emotions, Terrence Sorensen.

Terry's head shot up in surprise, the voice in his head catching him by surprise. He had been sure that no one had followed him after he left Pym's home, careful to avoid any police that happened along his way. Pym was an Avenger…could he have called out the heroes on him?

This is not the voice of a surface dweller, my friend, the telepathic voice stated, but the voice of one who wishes to help you. I guided you to this place with you none the wiser, as I wished to speak more directly with you.

“Who…who are you?” Sorensen stammered, looking frantically around the darkening wood.

My name is unimportant…it is my desire to provide you aid that is the concern. I know who you really are, Terrence, and I know the power that rages inside you. Your only daughter, your precious offspring, has been taken from you by the people on this world. It is revenge you wish, true?

Looking down at the cold face of his only child, Terry balled his fists and nodded his head in affirmation.

I have brought you to this place because of its location. You are at the direct center of the city, Terrence. From this point, you can apply your power and gain vengeance on the people that terrorized and persecuted your daughter unto death. Half in fire, half in ice…do you understand?

Allowing his daughter to rest on the grass, Sorensen stood up. Energy began to flow around his form, and while half his body burst into flame the other half crystallized into a sheath of solid ice. “I do understand,” he said, the flame and ice pouring over his body in an ever-flowing wave, “but my name isn't Terrence.”

He raised his hands into the sky, one fist pulsing with red fire and the other with white cold. “My name is Equinox .”

And then the energy in his body exploded outward, fire from the left side of his body and ice from the right. While the park ground on one side of his body instantly caught ablaze, the wave of fire rapidly flowing away from him, the other side instantly froze in place. The energy burst continued across the park, spilling out into the surrounding city area in moments. He stood static, pouring more and more energy out of his body, the stranger's voice coaxing him on inside his head.

“Let half the city burn!” he screamed into the night, feeling his power flow over the city of San Francisco . “Let half the city freeze! So commands the Thermodynamic Man!”

To Be Continued…

Next Issue: “Thermodynamic” continues as San Francisco is transformed into an ecological disaster…half a burning pyre, half a frozen wasteland! Will the Whackos arrive in time to save the city? Who is the mysterious stranger that's followed Equinox all the way from New York ? Who has set the Thermodynamic Man on his disastrous mission? Answers, answers, and more answers next issue!

Bibliography

- Equinox and his daughter, Janet, were last seen in Marvel Comics Presents # 147 . He nearly killed Henry Pym (as Yellowjacket) in Marvel Team-Up # 59 .

- Pym was forced to kill the insane Vision in Avengers # 13 (M2K).

- See upcoming issues of Avengers for Quicksilver's visit to New York City .